Cutting Happiness
by krazi little aus
Summary: Chase is still reeling over the death of baby Mikey in season two's episode 'Forever'. But when he finds himself in a traumatic situation, can the rest of the team help their colleague overcome his latest anxieties?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: First time I've written fanfiction in quite a long time. I might have lost my touch so I'll only continue this if people think it's good enough J

**Cutting Happiness**

**Chapter 1**

Doctors Foreman and Cameron didn't need to look up to know he had entered the room – the tap-tap-tapping of his cane against the hard tiled floors was enough to signify Doctor House's entrance. They also knew not to look up upon his arrival – he would announce his presence with a new case and a smart goad to catch their attention.

"Forty-six year old male falls on head and bleeds from rectum – thoughts?"

They raise their heads then. Cameron pushes away the medical journal she's been diligently reading and Foreman puts his cup of coffee down.

"Man is clumsy and has haemorrhoids," Foreman suggests nonchalantly. "Not much of a case."

"That doesn't explain the hypertension or the dysuria," House objected, throwing down three files on the table.

Foreman frowned. "Well if I had known those were his symptoms, I wouldn't have suggested –"

"Where's Skippy?" House interrupted, intrigued by the absence of his third fellow.

Cameron flicked through the file she had picked up. "He's sick," she explained before quickly moving on to the patient. "He's having hallucinations," she read. "Could be Hypoglycaemia."

House shook his head. "Doesn't explain the rectal bleeding," he paused for a brief second before changing track. "He's not sick. He's crying over dead babies and alcoholic parents."

"He said he threw up," Cameron answered. "Sarcoidosis would explain the hypertension."

"But not the rectal bleeding and hallucinations," Foreman said.

"He's lying," House interjected.

Foreman huffed. "Are we going to talk about Chase all day or are we gonna find out what this guy has?"

House frowned in mock concern. "Don't worry, daddy loves you too." He limped to the whiteboard and started to write down the list of symptoms and the possible diagnoses which his fellows had suggested. "Test for them all. Foreman, test his blood sugar levels. If it's Sarcoidosis he'll have pulmonary symptoms – do a CT scan of his chest as well. Start from there." He finished writing on the board and stood back to read it. "Cameron, ring Chase and tell him to get over here or I'll assign him more dead babies to cut open. When you're done threatening him, test for fungi and parasites."

Foreman took that as his cue to leave and, finishing off the last of his coffee, he walked briskly out the door. Cameron stayed behind. She was troubled by House's request.

"If he's sick, he can't come in to work and if he's upset about baby Mikey, I don't think threatening him with more dead babies will help."

House turned to face her, swinging his cane in the air lazily. "What's a better motivator than dead babies?"

Xxx

He had started working in NICU for the extra cash. If Chase had known that asking for extra hours in NICU would result in him performing the last rites to a dead baby in the morgue, he probably would have forgone a dinner or two. Every day since little Mikey had died had been accompanied by a hollow feeling in his chest. It had nothing to do with the fact that this was the second baby that had died under his care – he wasn't keeping count, not really – but it had everything to do with the circumstances surrounding his death. Complications due to asphyxiation. Asphyxiation committed to Mikey by his own mother. His alcoholic mother. It hit Chase a little too close to home.

He had taken the day off work, not wanting to face House, not now that House knew about his money problems and how bad he screwed up with Mikey. He just needed one day to himself, to relax and recommit himself to a career he had been having serious doubts over since Mikey. So he rang up Cameron – Cameron, not House – and informed her that he had been 'puking all night'. A lie, one which he knew House would see through, but he figured as long as he got a medical certificate from a doctor, House couldn't do much about it.

So that's what brought him to a doctor's private clinic that morning. He thought he'd just make up a few symptoms that would lead the clinic's doctor to believe he had a mild case of the flu and that would be the end of it. He had chosen a clinic as far away from Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital as he was willing to go – he didn't want to run into anyone he knew.

The waiting room of the clinic was fairly empty when Chase arrived. There was one man sitting in the far corner reading a magazine and a woman and her crying child sitting closer to the door. Chase went to check in with the receptionist who kindly explained to him that the doctor was running a little late, but should arrive any minute now. She instructed him to take a seat and he obliged, opting for a chair opposite the man reading the magazine.

He watched the woman and her child. She was trying to cajole him into taking a sip from a juicebox. The child was stubbornly refusing, complaining of a sore throat. The child, a boy around four, showed classic signs of the flu. Chase tried to count all the symptoms he noticed but stopped himself when he felt the vibration of his cell phone in his pocket. Retrieving it, he glanced at the screen and noted House's office number displayed there.

"Hello?"

"Chase," it was Cameron. "House wants you to come in."

"I'm sick," he said, aware that the little boy had stopped crying and was watching him with interest. "I'm at a clinic."

"Well, come in when you're finished," Cameron insisted. "He wants you here."

"I'm not going to risk my health and the health of the patients because of him," Chase felt the lie slip out easily and wondered when he had become so adept fibbing.

"He insisted," Cameron pushed and Chase was sure that what she really meant was that House had _threatened. _

"Too bad," Chase said, letting off a cough for authenticity's sake. "Look, I got to go." And in one swift motion of his hand, Chase had closed the phone and successfully cut the line.

Chase committed the next minute of his time seething over the phone call and the implications his refusal to return to work would have. He was brought out of his stupor however when he noticed that the little boy had abandoned his mother and was creeping his way closer towards Chase. Chase cocked an eyebrow and watched in fascination as the boy took a few steps forward and then subsequently take one step back. The mother, still holding the rejected juicebox, chuckled softly.

"Well at least his mind is off the sore throat," she said. "He likes your accent," she explained to Chase. "He thinks it's funny."

Chase smiled. "It is kinda funny, isn't it?" he directed it at the boy who took this as an invitation to take the seat next to Chase.

Suddenly, the door to the clinic flew open and two men rushed in. Chase had barely enough time to register their arrival when one of the men retrieved a pistol from the inside of his jacket and pointed it at the receptionist.

"Everyone on the ground!" the other man strode into the waiting room and pulled out his own pistol, pointing it at Chase first, then the mother and lastly at the man reading the magazine.

The woman screamed in response and the boy sitting next to Chase began to cry. But nobody moved.

"Did you hear me?" the man shouted again. "Get on the fucking ground!"

Xxx

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	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Did you hear me? Get on the fucking ground!"

"Mummy!" the boy lurched from his seat next to Chase, a flurry of movement that Chase had only a split second to register before he grabbed the boy's arm hastily and jerked him back into his chair.

"Jack!" the mother made to stand, but the gunman was on her in an instant, slamming the butt of his gun against the side of her head. The woman fell to the floor, blood streaming down her face and staining her shirt. She groaned and made to sit up but the gunman leaned down, grabbed her by the collar, and dragged her to the far end of the room, propping her up against the wall.

"Fuck Dave, was that necessary?" the second gunman had his gun pointed squarely at the receptionist, but he watched as 'Dave' kneeled in front of the woman and planted a kiss on her blood-stained cheek. He groaned as Dave pulled away, his mouth red with her blood.

Dave laughed and started making puckering sounds with his lips. Chase felt his chest constrict and terror filled him. What kind of sadist does that?

"Mummy!" Jack screamed louder, trying to untangle himself from Chase's hold.

"I-It's okay, Jackie," she was dazed and Chase's medical instincts were telling him to go to her, but he knew better.

Dave aimed the gun back at Chase and Jack and then again at the man holding the magazine, wiping his mouth clean simultaneously.

"Go," he waved the gun in the direction of the wall perpendicular to the one Jack's mother was propped up against. "Move."

Chase didn't need to be told again. He dragged the boy, screaming and crying, to the wall and sat down, forcing the kid into his lap. The man with the magazine put his reading material down calmly, put up his hands in silent surrender and joined Chase and Jack on the floor against the wall, sitting a mere foot away from them.

"Shut that fucking kid up!" Dave spat in Chase's direction and Chase, feeling his heart beat painfully and his chest seize, covered Jack's mouth with his hand.

Dave, still pointing the gun at the young Intensivist, turned his head back to his accomplice and yelled, "I'm all good here, Rick."

Rick returned his attention back to the receptionist. "Okay, where're the drugs?"

Chase couldn't see the receptionist from where he sat, but he could see the two gunmen and tried to commit their descriptions to memory.

"We – we don't k-keep drugs on the premises," the receptionist stuttered and judging by the wetness in her voice, she had started to cry.

"Bullshit," Rick spat. "I fucking _know _you keep drugs here. Where are they?"

Chase wanted to scream at her – tell her to just give them the damn drugs – but his mouth was dry and he doubted that he would be heard over the sobs still escaping Jack. He took a quick glance back at Jack's mother and noticed that she had lost consciousness.

"I – I swear, we don't have drugs here!"

Dave swore and made to join his accomplice. "Don't lie, bitch!" he leaned over the desk that separated the receptionist from her assailants and put the gun against her cheek.

Chase felt movement beside him and dared to swivel his head to the side. The man who had been reading the magazine was looking intently at Chase. His eyes kept darting to the floor then back at Chase as if telling him something. Chase followed the man's eyes and found that he was holding up his pants leg high enough so that Chase could make out something black partially hidden in his sock. Chase recognised the gun almost immediately and shook his head.

"No," he whispered frantically.

The man leaned forward and put his hand around the gun. Chase looked back at Dave and Rick. They were too busy with the receptionist.

"It's okay," the man whispered. "I'm a cop."

That didn't make Chase feel any better. "No," he whispered furiously again. It was clear to him that the gunmen weren't going to shoot anyone if the cooperated. If the cop threatened them, they might turn feral and hurt any one of them. Including the little boy sitting in Chase's lap.

"Trust me," the cop said softly.

"Hey!" Dave turned away from the receptionist and strode into the waiting room again, pointing the gun back and forth between Chase and the cop. "What are you doing?" Chase held his breath, aware that the cop still had his hand on the gun in his sock. "Why are you sitting like that?" Dave moved closer, trying to take a closer look at the cop's position on the floor. And then everything happened at once: Chase's anxiety got the best of him and his hand over Jack's mouth loosened, sending the little boy into fits of sobs and startling Dave. Dave turned his gun on Chase and in that split second, the cop was able to retrieve his gun. A shot was fired, a scream was heard, and Chase turned Jack around in his lap and pressed the boy's face into his chest whilst simultaneously burying his own face in Jack's hair.

There was a moment of silence and Chase breathed in the scents in Jack's hair, the boy's vice-like grip around his waist. Nothing moved, no one spoke – even Jack had been silenced by the gunshot. Chase waited, waited for confirmation that Dave was down. But that didn't make any sense. There was only one gunshot – what about Rick?

And then Chase heard it: strangled, gargled breathing from beside him and he knew it wasn't Dave that had been shot.

"Shit, he's a cop," Dave's voice was stunned, but there was a giddiness there too.

"You going to show me where the drugs are now?" Rick's voice was teasing.

Chase, his face still buried in Jack's hair, heard the rustling of keys and two pairs of footsteps fading in the distance.

Chase felt bile in his mouth and his stomach lurched. He felt tears in his eyes and felt his mind descend into an array of panic. Suddenly, Jack's hair was suffocating him and, in desperate need of air, raised his head. He instantly regretted doing so.

The cop was slumped heavily against the wall, his head bowed against his chest and his body leaning slightly towards Chase. The lower part of his shirt and the upper part of his pants were soaked in blood. Chase dared himself to look closer.

"Shut that fucking kid up!"

Blood was pouring from the cop's midsection – he's been shot in the abdomen – and judging by the rapidity in which the blood was escaping the wound, it looked as if the bullet had broken a blood vessel.

"Hey! Did you hear me?"

Chase knew he had to reach over – merely a foot – and apply pressure to the wound. He needed to stop the flow of blood. So why was he frozen?

"Stand up!"

He watched the blood pour onto the floor. A pool of it formed in the space between him and the cop. He needed to get away – he needed to run!

"Stand up or I'll blow your fucking skull off!"

He wanted to shove the kid off his lap and just take a run for the door. But he couldn't move. All he could do was stare dumbly at the cop.

"And then I'll blow his off too!"

"No! Not Jack! Not my Jackie!"

Chase felt hard cold metal pressed against his temple and he stiffened.

"Stand up," the command was cold and threatening and, almost unbeknownst to him, Chase's body complied.

He loosened the hold Jack had around him and slowly stood, swinging the boy around his back so that he stood between Dave and Jack, the barrel of the gun aimed at his forehead. He looked fleetingly around the room, his mind barely acknowledging the sobbing omitting from Jack and the screams from his now conscious mother. If he had been in a better state he might have realised the absence of Rick and the receptionist.

He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable sound of the pulling of the trigger. He wished Jack would stop sobbing and the mother would stop screaming. He didn't want the last things he heard to be sounds of distress. But what he did not expect was laughter.

Daring, Chase opened his eyes and found the barrel of the gun still pointed his way but the man holding it in hysterics.

"Hey Rick," Dave called over his shoulder towards a hallway leading past the receptionist's desk, never lowering the weapon aimed at Chase. "You got to take a look at this!"

Dave wasn't looking directly at Chase, but instead was laughing and pointing at an area just below Chase's beltline. Chase followed Dave's finger and, horrified, noticed a clear liquid soak his pants around his crotch and leave trickling marks down his pants' legs.

"I'm kinda busy here!" Rick's voice came back to them, strained. Had Chase been paying more attention, he might have noticed the screams of pain that accompanied Rick's reply.

"Dirty bastard," Dave chuckled, turning back to Chase. His eyes lingered momentarily on Chase's pants in sadistic glee before his smile faded. "That damned kid!" He lowered the gun towards a little arm that was draped around Chase's leg. "I'm going to shut him up for good!"

The mother was in hysterics, and she pushed herself away from the wall and began crawl towards them. Dave had caught the motion and turned the gun towards her.

"Stay where you are!"

She collapsed in heaving sobs, defeated. The gun came back to meet Chase.

"Get away from him," Dave looked deranged – not a far cry away from where he had been momentarily, but certainly a difference in mood.

Chase would wonder later where he gained the courage to do what he did next – in fact he would spend agonising hours pondering over his motives – but in that moment he never gave it a second thought as he shook his head in a definitive 'no'.

Dave raised the gun back up to Chase's forehead and Chase knew this was it.

Xxx

"He started seizing an hour ago," Foreman informed his peer and employer. "This is a neurological problem."

"Says the Neurologist," House rebutted. "You're like a broken record."

Foreman huffed. "Hallucinations? Seizures? Nothing on his CT scan. It's neurological."

"He's kidney's are failing," Cameron reminded him.

"So he has a neurological disease and renal failure."

"Yes, but why does he have renal failure? It's connected."

"Put him on a hemodialysis for the kidney failure and start him on gabapentin for the seizures," House instructed. "Give him an MRI too." He turned to Foreman. "Happy?"

Whether Foreman was happy or not, House did not discover: his cell phone let out a series of high screeches which indicated to him that someone was ringing him. Cameron and Foreman exchanged glances at the sound coming from the phone.

"Don't like it?" House asked snidely. "It's all the rage nowadays."

He took the phone out of his pocket and answered it with a short and brisk "House."

Cameron and Foreman watched as House's expression turned from one of annoyance to one of concern.

"When?" he asked sharply. "No, I'll be there."

He shut the phone and put it back in his pocket. He looked at Cameron and Foreman for barely a second before he grabbed his cane and limped out of the office. His two employees close on his heels.

Xxx

Thanks for the reviews everyone! Please tell me what you think of this chapter. Be honest – it's ok to tell me where I can improve J


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks everyone for the reviews! I've taken what you guys have said and I intend to improve based on your comments! Thanks again guys!

**Chapter 3**

The ER was teeming with doctors and patients when House rushed in. Cameron and Foreman were mere steps behind him, confused by his odd behaviour and resistance to explain said behaviour.

"House what are we doing here?" Foreman sounded irate.

House quickly scanned the ER, but he was not satisfied in his search.

"I got a tip Cuddy's hiding her balls down here," he said dryly, limping to a curtained off bed and roughly pulling it open. A male doctor was bent forward, performing a testicular exam on a patient.

"Hey! Get out of here!"

"Nope," House closed the curtains just as quickly as he had opened them. "Too big."

"Has this got anything to do with the patient?" Cameron asked as House took off again, limping towards the nurse's station. He pushed his way through a line of sick and injured people. Making his way to the front, he ignored the swears he received and instead directed his attention to a plump nurse attending the desk.

He leaned over the desk, hoping to give off an air of authority. "Where's Robert Chase?" The question was direct and emotionless.

The nurse looked resentful of the question. "You can't just –" she started.

"I can _just,_" House interrupted flatly. "I was called. They told me he was in a hostage situation."

House was aware that Cameron and Foreman had followed him to the front of the line and were currently standing on either side of him. He was aware that upon this revelation, Cameron had gasped with an exclamation of 'oh my God' and Foreman was demanding answers. House was also aware that his leg had started to pain him and his frustration was increasing – but he'd never let it show.

"I don't know anything about that," the nurse replied briskly. "You'll have to move aside."

House didn't feel the necessity to argue with someone who obviously had no clue as to anything that was going on in her own department. He casually dipped into his pocket, pulled out his Vicodin and downed two in one quick gulp. He pushed himself away from the desk and limped away, past the grumbling and swearing patients in line. Cameron and Foreman were hot on his heels.

"House!" Cameron's voice was pitched and choked. "What's going on? Where's Chase?"

House had no choice but to turn to his two fellows. But as soon as he had, the automatic doors to the ER opened and a stretcher was pushed inside by one EMT, whilst a second leaned over the person in the stretcher, his hands pressed against the patient's abdomen. At once two doctors converged on the stretcher, effectively blocking House's clear view of the patient lying there.

"Thirty-eight year old gunshot victim," the first EMT pushed the stretcher further into the ER, the doctors taking over from the second EMT. It was in this moment that House caught a glimpse of the man on the stretcher. His body was long and broad and his face was stern. He was unconscious and a sheen of sweat covered his brow. As the second EMT pulled away, House noted his blood soaked hands. Despite all this, House relaxed slightly. This was not Chase. Still, he was interested in the condition the man was in so he followed the stretcher as it was pushed along.

"Broke an artery," the EMT was saying, his voice rushed and slightly flustered. "He's losing too much blood. I don't know how he's survived this long."

House stopped following when the stretcher was pushed against the far wall of the ER and the doctors starting calling for O negative blood. House stared blankly at the man on the stretcher as the doctors moved around him.

"House!" Foreman sounded concerned. "What's going on?"

House turned back to Cameron and Foreman. "Chase was a hostage in a hold up," he didn't try to soften the answer, nor did he care about the reaction he would receive. He had no time to hold Cameron's hand or answer Foreman's incessant questions – he barely had time to process the information himself.

The doors to the ER opened again and this time an unconscious woman on a stretcher was rolled in. The woman was young, maybe in her twenties, with blonde hair and a slim physique. The EMT pushing the stretcher immediately starting calling for assistance. House turned away from the gunshot victim just as the doctor attending began to inject an IV line. The gunshot victim and this woman had been admitted within mere seconds of eachother – it couldn't just be a coincidence.

"She was raped," the EMT informed a female doctor who had hurried to attend to the woman on the stretcher. "She was hysterical. I had to sedate her."

"Let's get her into a private room," the doctor helped the EMT guide the stretcher past House and his team and into a room to the left.

They had barely disappeared inside when the ER doors opened once more and another stretcher was pushed inside, an older woman with a bloody gauze on the side of her head lying there. One EMT guided the stretcher through whilst another walked beside it, a little boy in his arms. House was uninterested in these new arrivals and turned back to the gunshot victim. The doctors were desperately working over him, pumping him with drugs and trying to stop the gushing of blood from his abdomen.

"Where's that damned blood?"

"We need to get him into an OR."

"We've got no time, we need to get the bullet out and close the wound."

"Not here! It's not sterile!"

"Screw sterile! He'll die if we don't do it now!"

House watched with keen interest as the two doctors argued briefly before the one insisting on immediate surgery grabbed a scalpel and leaned over the man. House noted that he wasn't the only one interested in what was going on – patients around the ER were watching as though they were in a cinema.

"House, what the hell is going on?" Foreman sounded _really _pissed. "Where's Chase?"

House heard a door open and close to his left – the EMT who had assisted the rape victim had reappeared. House leveled his cane across the man's chest as he passed by, forcing him to a stop.

"Was there a blonde guy with her?" House jerked his head in the direction of the room the EMT had just exited. "Really annoying accent?"

The EMT looked annoyed. He pushed the cane away from his chest and glared. "You mean that guy?"

House swiveled his head to where the guy was pointing. Two new EMTs had just entered the ER, one pushing a stretcher and the other wrestling with the blonde haired, annoying accented guy on the stretcher.

"Sir, you need to keep still!"

Chase's movements were erratic – he was flailing his arms about, trying to push the EMT off him in an attempt to sit up. He was clearly agitated and House knew from experience that agitated Chase meant violent Chase.

"Chase!" Cameron bounded forward instantly, Foreman close behind yet not with the same urgency.

House remained where he stood, watching with keen interest as the young intensivist struggled with the EMT who was attempting to keep Chase from rising off the stretcher.

"Chase! Are you okay? What happened?" Cameron reached her colleague and began to pace beside him as the EMT pushing the stretcher rolled it further into the ER.

"Just wait!" There was a slight note of hysteria in Chase's voice. "Let me just see him!"

House could see that Chase's face was flushed and sweat was coating his forehead. Judging by Chase's movements, facial expression – one of panic – and the hysteria that House had earlier identified in his voice, Chase was travelling on a high level of anxiety. House didn't need a physical examination to know that Chase's heartbeat was beating at a pace that was faster than normal and his body was pumping furious amounts of adrenaline.

"You need to calm him," the EMT struggling with Chase looked at Cameron and Foreman pleadingly. "He's got two broken ribs."

"Chase, man, you got to wait," Foreman attempted to help the EMT restrain Chase, but the Australian had somehow maneuvered himself so that he was able to escape the hold the EMT had on him. He pushed himself off the still moving stretcher – a feat which House attributed to his adrenaline levels.

Chase landed on his stomach but the shock his actions had aroused in his audience gave him time to struggle to his feet and stumble in House's direction. His steps were small and uncertain. He was bent forwards and his arms were wrapped around his lower chest but his face was determined and his eyes were screaming in urgency. House followed Chase's line of vision – he was pointedly staring at the gunshot victim and the two doctors who were now charging up a defibrillator.

"Chase!" Cameron ran after him, easily catching up. "Where are you going?" She grabbed his arm, but instead of pulling on it, she simply held it as she walked along beside him.

Chase ignored Cameron's question, and he came to a stop next to House. He stood there, eyes locked on the scene before him – one doctor shouting 'clear!' and shocking the patient's chest whilst the other tried to attach a new IV line containing the much needed blood into the man's arm.

House caught Foreman's eyes as the neurologist, accompanied by the two EMTs, began to rush towards Chase. He shook his head in a silent 'stop' and Foreman slowed to a pace. Foreman pulled on the shirts of the EMTs, whispered something to them, and they too slowed to a pace.

It was obvious to House that Chase needed to be here and that intrigued him. Instead of watching the doctors try to shock the man's heart, House watched Chase, wanting to see how he would react to the scene. In Chase's reaction, House could perhaps identify the importance of the gunshot victim to Chase.

"Clear!"

"Blood pressure is dropping!"

"Clear!"

"Heart rate is slowing!"

"Clear! Dammit! Come on!"

Chase's face was white and House identified desperation written in his features. Still, Chase watched, seemingly unaware of anything around him. Unaware that Foreman now had his other arm. Unaware that both patients and doctors had stopped what they had been doing – broken ankles, cracked skulls, and weird rashes forgotten – to watch the scene unfold. Unaware that if it wasn't for Cameron and Foreman, Chase would be on his knees, unable to continue standing not simply because of a couple of broken ribs, but because of the despair he felt weighing in his chest.

"Clear!"

_Beeeeeeep_

"Clear!"

"Dom, he's gone. We need to call it."

"Clear!"

_Beeeeeeep_

"Dom!"

_Beeeeeeep_

"Dom!"

"Call it."

"Time of death, 11:26 AM."

Xxx

Reviews make me happy :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The ER seemed to stand still – perfect silence only obstructed by the continuing _beeeep _of the monitor. But as soon as the now-deceased man was unhooked from all the equipment that had been helping to keep him alive, and was wheeled out of the ER, the room filled with noise again, seemingly unaffected by what had just transpired.

"He's going into shock!"

Cameron swiveled her head to the side in response to Foreman's shout. She had been watching the scene intently just like everyone else and had inadvertently forgotten that she was arm in arm with Chase. Her colleague had started to shake – when he had started, she had no idea. Had he been shaking this whole time?

"We need some blankets here!"

Chase's shakes were becoming more violent and he was letting out little gasps of breath in short successions. Cameron confirmed Foreman's diagnosis – Chase had gone into shock. In her surprise, she had pulled her arm away from his, thus disconnecting contact and leaving Foreman to carry his weight.

"Cameron!"

Cameron realized her mistake instantly: without her assistance Foreman was unable to keep Chase upright. Chase had seemed to have lost all strength in his legs and his knees buckled. Foreman struggled hard to keep Chase's upper body off the floor but, evidently, Foreman could no longer support all of Chase's weight. As they made the transition from standing to kneeling, Cameron grabbed onto Chase's arm again, attempting to make the move more paced and deliberate. She sat down beside him.

"House!" Cameron turned her head towards her boss, demanding his help and was horrified to find him merely standing nearby simply watching. Cameron saw the look in his eyes that she's seen a thousand times before and instantly knew what it meant: he was trying to put together a puzzle.

Cameron turned her attention back to Chase. His shaking had not stopped, nor had his sharp intakes of breath. His eyes darted back and forth across the room as if tracking the movements of a threat. He did not appear to be aware of the people around him or the fact that his two co-workers had him pinned to their own bodies. Cameron identified this as more than just a state of shock – Chase was in the throes of a panic attack.

A nurse arrived with blankets and Foreman quickly wrapped them around Chase's shoulders.

"I need 20 milligrams of Lorazepam!" she unintentionally shouted the request – she'd need to apologise later.

A syringe was thrust into her hand and she looked around Chase to catch Foreman's eye. He nodded at her silent request and motioned for the nurse to take his place next to Chase. He then moved so that he was directly in front of his younger colleague, placing firm hands on his shoulders in an attempt to prevent unwanted responses to what was about to happen. Cameron took this as her cue and proceeded to roll up the sleeve of Chase's shirt. Chase's shaking body made it hard, but Cameron was able to successfully roll up his sleeve to the elbow and then insert the syringe into his arm. Within seconds Chase had stopped shaking. Foreman moved his hand up to Chase's neck and placed his index and middle finger there. He nodded at Cameron, indicating that Chase's pulse was beating at a reasonable rate.

"Okay, let's get him up."

Xxx

Chase opened his eyes and then closed them again. His mind was fuzzy, his thoughts unclear, and his chest and abdomen aching. For a moment he was unsure of where he was or what had happened. And then he remembered.

He willed to return to his post-wakeup state of ignorance but now that he remembered, there was no going back. A weight of dread and hopelessness settled in the pit of his stomach as the events that had transpired in the doctor's clinic played like a bad, disjointed movie in his mind. As he lay in bed – not yet quite knowing whose bed as it did not feel like his – he felt his body tense and arch. He furrowed his brow and willed the images to go away and leave him. And then another memory hit him – the death of the cop. As if an electric shock had coursed through his body, Chase sat straight up in bed, eyes wide open, breathing deeply and shaking furiously.

It took a minute to control his breathing and still his shakes. His heart was pounding furiously but it was the lump in his throat that made him lean over the side of the bed and throw up. When he was done, he pulled himself back onto the bed and lay still, his eyes closed once more. It wasn't long until he was asleep again.

When he woke again, his throat was dry and his head was pounding. He raised a hand to his head and groaned. He heard shuffling coming from somewhere nearby and opened his eyes. He blinked a couple of times to get the sleep out and when he did he found Cameron standing at the end of his bed, looking sympathetic.

"Hey," she said softly.

Chase made to reply but his voice got stuck in his throat. He cleared it and tried again.

"Hey," his voice was raspy, but audible.

Cameron moved to the side of his bed where there was a small set of drawers, one which there sat a pitcher of water and a glass. She filled the glass as he sat up and then handed it to him. He took a sip, finding the water refreshing – he had the taste of vomit in his mouth.

"Chase," Cameron started, but Chase shook his head slowly. He wondered what she knew.

He found that he couldn't look at her and instead took in his surroundings. He recognized the room instantly – a private hospital room at Princeton Plainsboro. _Great,_ he thought sullenly.

"Chase," Cameron tried again and this time he allowed her to continue. "How are you feeling?"

Chase thought that was a pretty stupid question. He placed the now empty glass back on the set of drawers and lay down again.

He ignored her question and asked one of his own. "Did they catch them?" he stared up at the ceiling and waited anxiously for the reply.

There was a silence that lasted what felt like an eternity and Chase wondered if Cameron had understood his question.

"No," she said softly, regrettably. Before Chase had time to process this, she continued. "But they wanted to speak to you."

And as if on cue, the door to the room opened and two plain clothed men walked in, flashing their badges.

Xxx

**A/N: **Short chapter after a long break. I'm doing my thesis so I haven't had time to focus on the story. Thanks so much for all the reviews and I hope you can forgive me for the lateness :)


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **A chapter after about four months or so. If anyone actually still cares about this story, thanks! If not, I don't blame you :) So feel free to abuse me in the reviews (as long as I get reviews! lol)

**Chapter 5**

The two men that entered Chase's hospital room identified themselves as agents Jenkins and Riley. The badges that they showed Chase and Cameron had _Federal Bureau of Investigation_ written in large letters above their pictures and credential details.

"FBI?" Chase propped himself up on his elbows and Cameron took the opportunity to fluff up his pillow, leaning it against the headboard of the bed so Chase could sit up and lean against it.

"We believe the people who robbed the medical centre today are responsible for more than a dozen robberies of pharmacies across the country. The crime has crossed state lines – it's now a federal case," Riley explained. He was a big black man, his muscles outlined on his tight shirt. Chase would have laughed at the sight of him: the stereotypical FBI agent looking like he just came off the set of a Will Smith movie. But Chase couldn't find the humour in it at that particular moment.

"But Cha – Robert," Cameron cleared her throat, annoyed at her slip, "was in a medical clinic, not a pharmacy."

Jenkins nodded. He was a suave, older gentleman. His brown hair was freckled with grey as was his goatee. He wore a leather suit jacket and gave the impression of immense wealth – more so than what his FBI pay check would suggest.

"Yes, that is true," he acknowledged. "But the M.O of the crime is the same as the other robberies. We still need to look into it."

Chase used his hands to push himself into a sitting position and then leant back against the pillow Cameron had adjusted for him. The movement made him dizzy, but he blinked, drew in a deep breath and swallowed. It took a few seconds, but he regained his composure and stared expectantly at the two FBI agents.

"What do you want?" he didn't mean it to sound so harsh, but he wasn't about to apologise.

"We wanted to ask you some questions," Jenkins said, ignoring the slight in Chase's question.

"Agents, he just woke up," Cameron jumped and Chase wondered why she hadn't done so the minute they had walked in. "Perhaps you could save your questions for later. The doctor still needs to examine him."

"We just spoke to his attending physician," Riley said, his voice even and emotionless. "Physically Mr. Chase will be fine, no lasting damage and nothing that will stop him from answering our questions. It is very important that we speak to him now, whilst the memories of what happened are still fresh."

Chase drew in a breath. "It's fine Cameron," he said, knowing that the agents were right. "I'm fine."

Cameron looked as if she wanted to say something more, but instead refrained, biting softly on her lip.

"Mr. Chase," Jenkins started. "Can you walk us through what happened, what you saw and anything at all you can remember from the moment you stepped into the medical clinic this morning?"

Chase hesitated. Were they really going to ask these questions in front of Cameron and expect him to answer truthfully? It was bad enough that he was going to tell the big black man with the bulging muscles that he had been cowardly, but in front of Cameron too? He shifted nervously and glanced hesitantly at Cameron who looked like she had no intentions whatsoever to move. Jenkins, however, seemed to have noticed Chase's discomfit.

"Sorry doctor," he said, addressing Cameron. "But we will need some privacy."

Cameron looked shocked and turned to Chase, but he refused to look into her eyes. Nodding her head slightly, she squeezed his shoulder before walking out of the room.

"So, Mr. Chase," Jenkins said once Cameron had closed the door behind her. "Walk us through what happened."

Xxx

"You told them they could talk to him?" demanded Cameron, staring angrily at House. "He just woke up!"

House leaned forward on his chair and rubbed his leg. He ignored Cameron and stared at the whiteboard in front of him. His patient had taken a turn for the worse, adding lesions on the skin to an ever growing list of random symptoms.

"What did the MRI come up with?" he asked Foreman who was sitting opposite House at the table.

Foreman frowned. "Nothing," he said begrudgingly. "You were right."

"Of course I was," House snapped back.

Cameron crossed her arms across her chest and glared at House. "House!" she all but screamed his name, frustration consuming her features. "He just woke up!" She stood in his direct eye-line with the whiteboard, blocking his view.

"Then he'll have plenty of energy to talk, won't he?" House said, grabbing his cane and trying to push her out of the way with it.

"He just went through a traumatic event," Cameron insisted, stepping aside as the cane threatened to come down on her. "He should rest."

"No, he should tell everything he knows to the tough, sexually ambivalent G-man with the bulging biceps because _that's_ how they catch the bad guys," he said it slowly, patronisingly.

"You couldn't have waited?" Cameron huffed.

"He'll be fine," Foreman said, clearly annoyed. "He wasn't the one who was raped. Can we get back to doing our job and diagnosing this patient?"

House looked over at Foreman and smirked. "Well since Foreman is so _clearly _concerned about his dear colleague –" House turned back to Cameron. "Cuddy already ordered me to give him the week off."

"You sound upset about that," Cameron said.

"And you're surprised?" Foreman spat, clearly maddened by House's successful attempt at angering him. "Can we get back to the patient now?"

"I need my surgeon," House addressed Cameron, ignoring the huffing noises Foreman was making. "Now stop pretending to care for Chase and start pretending to care for the rectal bleeding, lesion sprouting..."

Cameron watched as House drifted off for a mere second before jumping to his feet and limping quickly out of the room.

"He's figure it out," Cameron said and forgetting about Chase, she rushed after House, Foreman hurrying to keep up.

Xxx

When Riley and Jenkins had finished with their questions, they handed over their cards to Chase and told him that he could call at any time to keep up to date with the process of the investigation. Chase thanked them and then promptly threw the cards out when they left.

He lay back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and blinking rapidly. His eyes were wet and his breath was shaky but he fought the tears back. If this had happened to someone else, some other patient, he would tell them that it was okay to feel like this, it was okay to feel helpless and angry and frustrated. He had a gun to his head, was beaten and watched a man bleed out in front of him. That's what Jenkins and Riley had told him too. If it was anyone else, he would say it's normal – but it wasn't anyone else, it was him. He thought he was stronger than this. And the worst part of it all? He didn't just feel helpless and angry and frustrated, he felt _scared._


End file.
